Shamrock Pie Murder
TABLE OF CONTENTS
SHAMROCK PIE MURDER
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
Shamrock
Pie
Murder
A Pies and Pages Cozy Mystery
Book Eight
BY
Carolyn Q. Hunter
Copyright 2018 Summer Prescott Books
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder.
**This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, places of business, or situations past or present, is completely unintentional.
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SHAMROCK PIE
MURDER
A Pies and Pages Cozy Mystery
Book Eight
PROLOGUE
* * *
January 1999
The chilly winter air of the rural Nebraskan plains was cold on Sharon’s cheeks, colder than usual thanks to the wet streaks that had stained her face. Driving along the rural country road coming out of town, she had the windows cracked to keep any steam from fogging up her view of the road. It did her little good. Her crying—which blurred her vision—only added more moisture into the air, forcing her to take it slow.
Despite these few setbacks, it had only taken about ten minutes to make the drive home across the open flatland.
Pulling her car into the driveway of her tiny farmhouse, she quickly used her gloved hands to wipe away the signs of a crying woman, hoping her red eyes wouldn’t betray her.
Shutting off the engine, she breathed in deeply and then out again, creating a fog in the space surrounding her. She had to calm herself before heading inside. Unfortunately, the memory of what she’d just done clutched at her chest, always threatening to rise up and turn into another cascade of tears.
She wanted to rush right back into town, to take back what she’d done, to stop the painful wheels of injustice from turning, but she just couldn’t bring herself to put the car in reverse. Not only would she be putting herself in danger, but her husband as well.
There was no telling what he might do if she didn’t report back and inform him that she’d done exactly as he’d told her. She struggled to gulp back another outflow tears as she stepped out of the car and made her approach to the front door.
She could already see her husband sitting in the living room inside through the front window. The room remained quiet. No TV or radio played in the background and he simply sat with his eyes toward the front door, his stoic expression the only accompaniment to his patience.
Swallowing down another wave of emotion and forcing her eyes to remain dry, she stepped into the house to tell her husband what she’d done.
CHAPTER 1
* * *
March 2018 - Saint Patrick’s Day
“And it’s a beautiful day here in Culver’s Hood, Nebraska. It seems the smudges of gray skies and wet, snowy streets have parted ways, leaving behind a much sunnier disposition. I can tell you one thing, this weatherman is hoping that Spring is here to stay,” the voice came over the radio and into the warm, aromatic pie shop.
Pies and Pages, a combination bakery and bookstore, was decorated in shades of green and gold to herald in yet another holiday. Streamers, four-leaf clovers, and even a paper dancing leprechaun added an inviting atmosphere for any patrons of the downtown Old Market district of the city.
Not to mention the offering of tasty and hot slices of pie for anyone hungry or eager enough to purchase a slice. The month’s keynote dish, crafted in celebration of Saint Patrick’s Day, had been yet another top seller.
The window display had an arrangement of classic Irish literature, historical romances, and even a few mysteries to help promote book sales.
However, ever since the end of the Valentine’s season, sales had dropped off a little bit, much to the relief of baker Bertha Hannah. Between her and her only employee, Shiv, they’d been overwhelmed with order after order of specialty pies and gifts throughout the past few months. Now, however, it seemed the duo was getting a break from the masses of residents and tourists.
“You’re sure you can handle the shop on your own today without me?” Bert asked as she opened the oven and pulled out a tray that had been baking for the past half hour. She noted that her oven mitts, her favorites with the classic red and white crosshatch pattern on them, were getting a little dingy looking from use after use.
She’d need to remember to do a load of laundry after work that day.
“Stop your worrying. I’ve done it before, you know?” Shiv pointed out, flicking her elegantly long and shimmering black hair over her shoulder as she knelt in front of one of the shelves. She was restocking the bestsellers they had on display in the dining area. More people came into the store for a slice of pie than for books but having multiple shelves and displays right near the tables and waiting area was an easy way to convince people to make an impulse buy. Many of them included the usual monthly romances that many of their female customers craved, but also had the stereotypical thrillers that often topped the charts.
The mass market paperbacks, at only six or seven dollars a pop, were cheap enough that many people justified the cost. The shelf dedicated to cozy mysteries often found itself with empty spots thanks to the cute and attractive covers that drew in readers.
Personally, Bert had been involved in enough real-life murder mysteries to satiate her taste for a good whodunit. She much preferred the classics—and hated to admit it—but also enjoyed the pure escapism of a good historical romance set in the Victorian or Edwardian era.
“I know you’ve run the shop on your own, but today is Saint Patrick’s Day. It’s a holiday. Families and other customers will be out to celebrate, and this place just might be a hit.” Turning the tray of freshly baked goods upside down, she gave it a good pat and released the mini pies from their slots. Unlike her usual serving size pies, these were special. They were in the shape o
f little skulls, browned to perfection with a flaky crust on the outside and warm filling on the inside.
“More than the local bars?” Shiv joked with a crooked smile. Picking up the box of merchandise, she walked over to the next shelf to reload it.
“I said families, didn’t I? People with kids won’t be going to bars,” she pointed out.
“Sure, they will. My friends who have babies always go to bars to eat.” Shiv was young and therefore had young friends with new families.
Bert tilted her head in disbelief.
“You see, bars are always loud. People shouting and talking, music playing, sports on the TV in the background.”
“That sounds like a terrible place for a baby.”
“Actually, it’s one of the best places to go out on dates without having to hire a babysitter. The baby can laugh or cry or be as loud as it wants, and it won’t bother a soul. It just becomes a part of the overall noise. Also, a lot of the bars in the Old Market are really nice and accommodating when it comes to kids.”
Bert pursed her lips. “Well, I suppose I understand that.” Never having any kids of her own, she didn’t feel like she was always the most qualified to speak on parenting. If those families decided that eating out at a bar was the best decision, more power to them.
“Anyway, my point is, people will want to come here either before they eat or after for a slice of pie. I can almost guarantee it.”
“This morning shouldn’t be too hard. People won’t start heading out until this afternoon, or even after work for a lot of them.”
“Just call me if things get too overwhelming.”
Rolling her eyes, Shiv picked up the box again and set it on the counter. “Don’t worry. You take care of those stuffy old chiropractors and I’ll take care of the regulars here.”
“Hey, Carla’s brother is one of those stuffy chiropractors, you know,” Bert scolded her employee with a hint of teasing. With a wire sifter, Bert sprinkled white powdered sugar over the skull-shaped pies.
“Yeah, yeah. I know that, but have you met him?”
“No, I have not,” she admitted. Pulling the plastic canister of green sugar sprinkles closer, Bert began to decorate the pies in a somewhat more festive color.
“So, for all we know he’s a real stick in the mud?
“Don’t make premature judgments. I’m sure he’s pleasant, even if he turns out to be a bit boring.” Stepping back, Bert looked with satisfaction at the green sparkling pies. She was glad for an excuse to use the skull-shaped molds she got online and was impressed with how well they’d turned out. Skulls just seemed like the right things for the Annual Chiropractor’s Luncheon being held at The Green Room that day, even if they were having a Saint Patrick’s Day theme.
The pies were the same as her monthly special, with a rich Irish cream filling which was dyed a vibrant shade of green, just in the shape of skulls.
“Where is her brother staying, anyway?” Shiv asked, carrying the extra merchandise to the back of the shop.
“He came into town last night and is staying with Carla in the apartment above her shop. They should be on their way over to pick me up soon.”
Right on cue, the bell on the shop’s front door rang. “Good morning, all,” Carla greeted, stepping into the familiar setting.
“Hi, Carla,” Shiv greeted, emerging from the back stockroom where she’d just placed the box of merchandise she’d been carrying.
“Morning,” Bert greeted without looking up from her work of arranging the skull pies on a large plastic tray that was shaped like a four-leaf clover.
“Girls. This is my brother, Sean,” she announced, stepping aside and holding the door open for the man behind her.
Glancing up from the platter, Bert couldn’t help herself from letting out a quiet gasp as she took in the presence entering her store.
Standing at over six feet tall was a broad-shouldered man in a handsome gray business suit. His curly salt and pepper hair was neatly kept atop his head, and a matching well-trimmed beard helped to shape his rugged but sharp-featured face.
“Hello. It’s nice to meet you all.” His blue eyes fell on the baker behind the counter as he flashed a brilliantly white smile. “And you must be Bertha. My sister has told me so much about you.”
Bert could hardly bring herself to speak, but what shocked her the most was just how fast her heart seemed to be beating—as if it would never stop.
CHAPTER 2
* * *
As she rushed to get the rest of the trays of food ready to be loaded into Carla’s car, Bert had to silently scold herself. She felt silly for having reacted in such a juvenile way to Sean.
Sure, he was handsome, but did that warrant the dry mouth, the inability to properly speak, or the uncomfortable heartbeat? Hardly, she decided. He was just a man, like any other man, and no one could ever replace her late husband.
And while she’d been currently dating the local homicide detective, Harold Mannor, she wasn’t interested in any kind of serious romantic relationship. Therefore, admiring her best friend’s brother was a girlish fantasy that was little more than a waste of time.
This wasn’t junior high anymore, and she was an adult with responsibilities. Today, her responsibility included catering the Annual Chiropractor’s Luncheon of Nebraska.
Trying to push the fact that Sean looked like one of those handsome and suave TV detectives from a nineteen-eighties cop show, she finished loading up the car and got into the backseat. Usually, she would have brought her own vehicle, but Carla had offered to drive since her brother was going to be attending with her as his plus one.
In fact, the drive itself would take less than five minutes, since the Green Room was a famous party and event venue in the Old Market—and had been for nearly fifty years. It was literally only three blocks down on First Street.
“So, Bertha, Carla tells me you’re the best pie baker in the state.”
“She overexaggerates,” Bert said, making sure to add an inflection that scolded Carla for telling tall tales. “And you can just call me Bert, by the way.”
“She's being modest,” Carla noted with a look out of the corner of her eye at her best friend. “She’s won the state fair’s pie competition multiple times.”
“Well, Bert. That sounds like proof enough to me that you’re the best,” he praised her, turning in his seat to flash that incandescent smile again.
Was he flirting with her, Bert wondered? No, he couldn’t be. He dealt with hundreds of patients every week. If anything, he was using his same bedside manner he used with every person he encountered. It was something many doctors had going for them.
“Why don’t you just wait until you actually try one of my pies? Then you can decide for yourself,” Bert asserted, not wanting to draw any more attention from him than he was already giving.
She hated to admit it, but he was handsome—even if she wasn’t looking to date around.
Again, she gave herself a silent scolding for acting like a foolish schoolgirl. In fact, she hardly remembered ever acting like this when she was in school. She’d never been much of one to fawn over boys or spend too much of her energy on them. She was much more interested in getting good grades and baking pies with her mother.
She hadn’t even gone on a date with anyone until she was in college, where she met her late husband, and he’d been the only man she’d ever really been with. Of course, he’d had to spend a lot of time convincing her to even go on a date with him, let alone go steady.
Smiling to herself at the memories, she shook her head. She missed her husband.
No, Sean was handsome, but she wasn’t truly interested in him. Being an independent woman with her own business was too much a part of her now. Not to mention, Harry would be hurt if she dated someone else—even if she wasn’t serious with the detective. Outwardly, he was a tough, gruff cop, but deep down she’d seen his sensitive side.
“Oh, my. What is all this mess?” Carla complained as t
hey turned the corner onto First Street. The sidewalks seemed to be filled to the brim with people. They all seemed to be carrying signs and shouting in unison.
“Is this a protest or something?” Bert asked from the backseat.
“Yeah, unfortunately. This is pretty normal. Happens nearly every year,” Sean noted with a shake of his head, but never losing his smile as if he found the situation humorous.
“Every year?”
“That’s right. Doesn’t seem to matter which city we have the luncheon in, they seem to find us,” he noted, leaning forward to get a better look at the people swarming the sidewalks, and some even in the street, as they drove slowly on through.
Some of the people were so bold as to come right up to the windows of the car and yell through the glass, shaking the signs so much they were impossible to read. Bert physically recoiled from one scruffy looking man who seemed to be shouting, “No more acupuncture. No more acupuncture.”
Uniformed cops, some of whom Bert recognized from the local police force, stood at the front entrance to the Green Room and all along the street keeping the protestors at bay.
“What exactly are they protesting?” she asked, trying to read the poorly written signs which flopped back and forth in the morning wind.
“Chiropractors, of course,” Carla answered as if it were obvious.
“Well, that’s sort of an oversimplification, Sis,” Sean corrected.
“What do you mean?” Bert pressed, beginning to have a clearer picture.
“Well, everyone here is against the chiropractic profession for one reason or another.”
“Chiropractic work and acupuncture,” Carla noted with an air of confidence on the situation.
Sean smiled and rolled his eyes at his sister.
“I’m still a little lost. Why are they protesting the luncheon?”